


Blessing

by HopeCoppice



Series: The Dowserverse [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is a drama queen, Boarding School, Homophobia, I promise it's short-lived and mild, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Other, but look after yourselves my dears, ridiculous nicknames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23549194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Can doing what a demon tells you ever be right?(Further adventures of Duffers and Wellies)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling
Series: The Dowserverse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694872
Comments: 26
Kudos: 258





	Blessing

**Author's Note:**

> I had no intention of ever writing about these boys again, until approximately two minutes after I first wrote their names down, and now here they are again. Enjoy!
> 
> (TW: Mild homophobia, internalised and otherwise)

Warlock walked into his dorm room, stopped abruptly in the doorway, and was swiftly shoved forward as his friends piled in behind him.

“Keep it moving, Dowser- oh.”

_Oh_ was right; Wellies and Duffers had just leapt apart, breathless and flushed, but when Warlock had walked in they had definitely been kissing. It wasn’t really a _surprise_ as such; Crowley’s message to Duffers had only been cryptic until Warlock really stopped to think about it. _Spit it out, it’s clearly mutual._ The fact that he’d stopped to think about it in a darkened dorm, with Duffers and Wellies deep in whispered conversation just across the room, had only sped up his conclusion.

The thing was, though, that while it wasn’t a _surprise_ to find that Wellies and Duffers were an item, he was pretty sure they meant it to be a _secret_. And now, with Monty and Rich staring, slack-jawed, from behind Warlock, there was no pretending that any of them didn’t know what was going on.

“Er-” Wellies began, uncharacteristically flustered, and Warlock knew he was about to start babbling. Better to buy him some time before he said anything he’d regret later.

“What was the Maths homework, Monty?” It was a desperate attempt, and it failed.

“Were you two just- were you- are you-?” Monty, it seemed, hadn’t picked up on the feelings between his two friends; perhaps it really hadn’t been as obvious as Warlock thought, because Rich seemed just as stunned.

“But you’re- that’s _gay!”_ Warlock winced; Rich, of course, came from a very old English family with a very strict view of _proper behaviour_ and _traditional values_. Duffers turned bright red and began to move away from Wellies, but Wellies gritted his teeth and grabbed his hand.

“So what?” He challenged, and despite his blush, Duffers seemed to light up from inside. He’d been expecting Wellies to deny everything, Warlock realised. “So what if we are?”

Nobody seemed to have an answer to that, for a moment. Warlock sank down on his bed, exhausted from a brutal hockey match in PE, and Wellies took it as a cue to sit down, too. His bed was opposite Warlock’s, and he dragged Duffers with him to perch on the edge, fingers intertwined. Monty hesitated, hovering awkwardly by the door as Rich began to speak.

“But… doesn’t that mean you’re going to Hell?”

“Rich!” Monty hissed, but Rich only looked confused.

“Well, doesn’t it? The vicar at home, he always says that gay people are bad.”

“They’re not,” Warlock told him firmly, “your vicar is wrong.”

“You know us, Rich,” Wellies pointed out, “are we bad?”

“Well- I mean- no, you’re my friends, but that’s why I’m worried.”

“Your vicar’s wrong,” Warlock repeated, and Rich seemed to realise he was outnumbered.

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” He frowned. “I’m gonna go for a walk.”

“You can’t tell anyone, Rich. Please-” Duffers’ eyes were wide and pleading. “We’ll never hear the end of it if the rest of the school find out. Or the teachers-”

“I’ll go with you, Rich,” Monty offered, and Warlock wondered whether he wanted to make sure Rich didn’t tell, or just get out of the awkward situation. 

Either way, they left, and Warlock realised he was now the third wheel in the room. He was getting in the way.

“I’ll, er-”

“Do you really think they’re wrong?” Duffers had turned those pleading eyes on Warlock, and Warlock felt sorry for Wellies; it was very hard to deny Duffers anything when he looked at you like that, even if you _weren’t_ head over heels in love with him. Warlock couldn’t believe the others hadn’t known - but then, he supposed he’d grown up watching Nanny Ash and Brother Francis dancing around their feelings, thinking they were subtle. Not everyone had that sort of upbringing to fall back on; he supposed he could see how the sly glances and shy smiles that had seemed so obvious to him might be easily missed if you didn’t know what you were looking for.

“‘Course they are. Why should loving someone mean you go to Hell?”

“Oh- we- er-”

“No, it’s- we-”

 _Oh,_ Warlock realised, _they haven’t said it yet._ “So it stands to reason,” he continued hastily, “you don’t go to Hell for fancying someone, either. Or kissing. Or whatever.”

Wellies looked at Duffers; Duffers looked back at him. Neither of them looked entirely convinced. After a few moments, Wellies shrugged.

“Oh, who cares? Worth it.”

“It’s just…” Duffers began, and then blushed again as he realised what Wellies had said. Warlock was impressed; who knew Wellies could be a romantic? “Oh, _Splash._ But- but it’s just that, well, do you remember last term when we tried to summon that demon?”

“Oh, yeah, vaguely,” Warlock mumbled.

“Well, I know Rich reckoned it was all a hallucination, but do you remember you said… you said it said something. To… to me. It said _spit it out, it’s clearly mutual,_ that’s what you said.”

“Yeah,” Warlock confirmed, his heart sinking as he realised where this was going, “but-”

“And that’s why- that’s why I finally got up the courage to talk to Splash. And- and maybe- maybe the demon wanted me to do it because it was the wrong thing to do, after all. Maybe I should have just ignored it and hoped it went away.”

“No, Pip, no…” Wellies sounded wounded, like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs.

Warlock had been pretty sure that he wasn’t going to tell anyone about his encounter with the demon that had once been his Nanny. He was fairly certain, although Crowley hadn’t strictly _said_ as much, that it was supposed to be a secret. But these were his friends, and they were hurting. He opened his bedside drawer and pulled out his phone.

“Hold on, let me just check something.”

_To: Nanny_

_Message: Being gay is OK with God and stuff, right? You don’t go to Hell for it?_

The response was immediate.

_From: Nanny_

_Message: Of course it’s OK, She made you however She made you. You don’t go to Hell for that. Want to talk?_

Warlock smiled; that was what he needed to hear.

_To: Nanny_

_Message: Duffers having a crisis. Thinks he’s going to Hell because a demon told him to do it. Help?_

For a moment, there was nothing. No reply, no reassurance, not even the phone call he’d thought might follow. And then, blinding light.

Duffers and Wellies threw themselves down on the bed, burying their faces in the duvet, and Warlock raised an arm to shield himself from the sudden blaze of glory.

“Satan bless it, angel, tone it down! Do you _want_ me to catch fire?”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, my dear boy.” The light went out, and as Warlock blinked his way back towards full vision, he began to make out a dark, slender shape and a rounder, brighter one.

“Brother Francis?”

“Warlock Dowling, as I live and breathe. How lovely to see you again. Crowley said you’d grown up well, but it’s always nice to see that with one’s own eyes.”

“Wish I could see you,” Warlock grumbled good-naturedly, and the round, bright figure patted him on the shoulder.

“Ah, yes, sorry about that. I thought I should make an entrance. Where are these friends of yours?”

“Oh. Yeah.” He blinked twice more, until the unassuming man the angel pretended to be came into clearer focus. “Brother Francis- uh, Aziraphale? This is Wellies and Duffers. Wellies and Duffers, this is-”

“Aziraphale, Principality, Angel of the Eastern Gate and Guardian of Eden,” he declared grandly, “and I believe you’ve met Crowley.”

“Leave me out of it, angel, I’m just here to watch. And confirm your credentials.” And Crowley flopped down beside Warlock on his bed, settling in to watch the show.

Duffers and Wellies were clinging to one another again, clearly terrified by the sudden appearance of _Aziraphale, Principality, Angel of the Eastern Gate and Guardian of Eden_ , and Warlock felt he should intervene.

“Er, don’t worry. I know him.”

“You’re… an angel?” Duffers questioned weakly, and Aziraphale nodded. “But… you don’t have wings.”

“I most certainly do,” Aziraphale told him, and squared his shoulders.

“No room, angel,” Crowley warned, “you’ll wreck the place if you get them out in here.”

“Oh, not if I keep them tucked in, dear.” He frowned in concentration, and his wings materialised with a shudder. It seemed as if it was taking a lot of effort to keep them folded, now they were there. “There. You see?”

“Could do with grooming,” Crowley pointed out, and Aziraphale scowled half-heartedly at him before shuffling them away into the ether again.

“But- but _he’s_ a demon, he came when we summoned him-” Wellies pointed a shaking finger at Crowley, and the demon broke eye contact with Aziraphale for long enough to roll his eyes.

“Yeah, you’re welcome for nudging your boy into action.”

“But why aren’t you fighting?” Wellies asked, and Aziraphale sighed indulgently.

“Well, we’re not so different. Besides, I happen to be rather fond of him.” He spared Crowley a smile that said exactly that, and then turned back to the boys. “Be that as it may, I _am_ an angel. Warlock said you had a question that might be in my general department? That is to say, a theological problem?”

Wellies’ eyes were saucer-wide, and it didn’t seem like he was going to be able to string words together for a while, but Duffers took a very deep breath and gave it a go.

“Are we going to Hell because I told Spl- I told _Wellies_ I wanted to kiss him and he said I could and we liked it and we want to keep doing it, Mr Angel, sir?”

“Oh, just Aziraphale is fine. May I?” He perched on the edge of the bed beside Duffers, reaching across to touch each of their shoulders in reassurance. “There is nothing wrong about any of this, boys, nothing at all. You’re fond of each other, and you enjoy kissing each other. That’s wonderful! That’s exactly the sort of thing She intended you for.”

“But we’re both boys.”

“Hm, I suspected you might be.” Aziraphale met Duffers’ eyes with a serene smile. “Does that matter to you?”

“Well… no… but the- he- your demon, he told me to tell Wellies, so doesn’t that make it evil?”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale laughed. “Oh, Crowley’s- er, yes, very evil, very good at being evil, I mean, he’s the best at it, really.” Crowley narrowed his eyes suspiciously and Aziraphale gave up. “Look, Crowley’s specialism is really more _nuisance_ than actual _evil_. And he wouldn’t have told you to confess your attraction to, er, Wellies, is it? Oh, how delightful, is that a nickname? Not enough people have nicknames these-”

“Angel.”

“-right, quite right, back to the point. He wouldn’t have suggested it if it was going to send you to Hell.”

Wellies chose that moment to recover and speak up. “Rich said being gay was-”

“Oh, did he?” Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled. “Well, then, I assume he’d disapprove of my relationship with Crowley, too, since we are both currently man-shaped beings.”

“Your relationship-?”

“Oh, yes. We’re very much in love. And if She - the Almighty, that is - hasn’t cast _me_ down into the fiery pits for loving a man-shaped demon, I doubt She’s going to take offence to the pair of you.”

“Oh.” Wellies sat for a moment, then turned to Duffers. “That good enough for you?”

“The word of an angel? I’ll say.” Duffers’ eyes were shining, and Warlock was fairly certain it wasn’t a lingering effect of Aziraphale’s dazzling appearance.

“Oh, yes. You have my word, all right.”

Monty and Rich chose that moment to appear in the doorway again, just as Crowley dragged himself upright and reached out for Aziraphale’s hand.

“Come on, angel, we should be going.”

“Oh, all right, dear. One moment-” Aziraphale stood and turned to the two boys still sitting on the bed. He reached out and took one of Wellies’ hands, then one of Duffers’, brought them together, and clasped their joined hands between his own. “I want to be very clear about this, boys. I am Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, and _you_ _have my blessing_. _”_ Then he let go, smiled brightly, and stepped back. Warlock felt guilty, all of a sudden, as if he’d witnessed something intensely private. But then Aziraphale turned to him. “Warlock, my dear boy, we really must catch up properly some time. Perhaps we could drop by and take you out for dinner in a week or two?”

Warlock nodded, a little dazed, and then Crowley stepped close to Aziraphale.

“One of the boys in the doorway is Rich. The one with the ideas about Hell.”

“Oh, is he? Well, my dear, allow me to deal with the situation.” 

Warlock felt his heart hammer in his chest; what was Aziraphale - _Angel of the Eastern Gate -_ going to do to his friend? But the angel merely smiled at the assembled boys, took Crowley into his arms, and kissed him full on the mouth where they could all see. Warlock averted his eyes, because kissing was _gross_ , but he suspected the other boys would have more trouble looking away. He glanced up as his friends gasped, only to find that Aziraphale had wrapped Crowley entirely in soft, white wings, a gentler light now emanating from the crown of his head. He looked more like an angel than anyone Warlock had ever seen; it was breathtaking. And then they were gone. 

A single white feather drifted down to land on Duffers’ pillow.

For a long, silent moment, nobody moved. Then Warlock hauled himself off his bed, the aches and pains of his hockey match nothing but a memory.

“Come on, Monty. Rich. I don’t want to be late to dinner.”

They followed without further prompting, and Warlock suspected that they’d follow him into the jaws of a tiger if he cared to lead them into such a predicament. He supposed seeing an actual, honest-to-God angel could have that effect on people. He was a bit stunned himself; Crowley had told him Brother Francis was an angel, but to actually _see_ it-

He glanced back for long enough to pull the dormitory door shut, Wellies and Duffers still suspended in a moment only they could hope to truly comprehend. With a bit of luck, this would all have blown over by bedtime.

He sneaked his phone out of his pocket at dinner, under cover of Rich’s heartfelt apology to his friends, and sent a quick message.

_To: Nanny_

_Message: Might have been overkill, but thank you. I think it meant a lot to Duffers._

Soon enough, his phone buzzed in return.

_From: Nanny_

_Message: No such thing. Glad we could help. See you next week, C x_

_From: Nanny_

_Message: Aziraphale says he looks forward to catching up properly. C x_

Warlock slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned his attention to his food. He was looking forward to it, too.


End file.
